Winter's End
by JackpotGirl
Summary: As the world is dangling at an abyss, Castle Black sees many a reunion and little wonders when people rally to defeat the Others from beyond the Wall. oOo My version of the big finale to ASOIAF oOo Jon/Dany, Tyrion/Sansa, many familiar faces return. POVs: Jon, Dany, Sansa, Tyrion, Arya, Jaime oOo Spoilers and theories up to the 5th book. Please R
1. Jon

**Game Of Thrones** ~ _Book Verse_ ~ **Dany x Jon, Tyrion x Sansa, a little bit of Jaime x Brienne on the side  
**

**Spoiler Warning:** Spoilers up to the last book and use of many a fan's and some of my own theories. This is basically my headcanon and what I really want to happen but probably won't because that's just how it works.

**Disclaimer:** GoT belongs to GRR Martin and I know he hates fan fiction but since he will never see this…if you do Mr. Martin, I'm sorry. Please don't sue me, I'm poor as fuck.

**Setting:** At Castle Black. People are reunited. They all got there somewhere, you will find out how for some, for some you won't. What's important is that they're there.

**Notes:** Unbeta'd. All faults are my own. Please leave a review if you liked it :)

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**WINTER'S END**

**JON**

Jon Snow watched as Daenerys Targaryen paced up and down the length of the Lord Commander's chambers. Ser Barristan had been quiet for a while, looming over a map of Mance Rayder's kingdom beyond the wall, muttering only some odd words under his breath now and again. His wrinkled fingers traced river lines and mountain passes and he eyed it all like a hawk.

Everyone else was silent, lost to their own thoughts. Some time soon they would have to speak again and make plans but so far, it was like everyone waited for the mother of dragons to ask them for their thoughts. Daenerys, who had asked him to call her Dany as soon as she told him who she was and more importantly, who she'd learned that he was, commanded them all with a strange, inviting magic. She was young and beautiful and captivating. She seemed any inch as strong as Eddard Stark had. But where he had been hard-faced and stern in the face of trouble, Dany was radiating warmth and comfort and a fierce strength that made you believe in yourself almost as much as in her.

She was like a fire burning on a cold winter's night, like the only thing that would keep you from freezing to death. She was a life saver, the fire that promised to sustain them all.

In the candlelight, her silver hair shone golden, like softly burning coals and for the first time in what felt like years, Jon found himself thinking of something other than white walkers beyond the wall. It was a peculiar notion and had been since he'd awoken.

He felt like he had been dreaming for years, watching himself do strange things and speak strange words as if he wasn't even a part of his own body any more, bereft of feelings. And then he'd woken up to Dany's face, hovering above him, her silver hair falling onto his chest. His eyes had taken their time to adjust and first, in the dim light in the shadows of the wall, he had first thought her to be Ghost. Since that morning, it seemed that he was coming back to his senses. And hour he spent next to Daenerys touched him in some different place.

It took nothing more than a look of hers, a frown, a smile or a gentle word here and there and he needed no other medicine, needed not to trouble old Maester Aemon, his true great-grandfather as he had learned recently. He was growing stronger by the day and all the things he thought had been lost to him forever were returning, steadily pulsing back into his veins as if his blood was flowing quicker with hers so close.

He didn't know a name for the feelings he bared for her. They were as grand and consuming as they'd been instant. He was lost to her, like everyone else. And it was not merely the kind of natural desire, the need to be close, the natural pull of a woman on a young man like it had been with Ygritte – it was so much more. He loved her like he loved Arya too, and Sam.

"I can't think," she said into the silence and momentarily everyone looked up, roused from their various ponderings and Jon stood straighter, "It's too stuffy. I need space, an open sky."

Jon took a step forward, away from the wall he'd been leaning on. His body was as much his as hers, he moved when she did. Like he was her Ghost. Or her black dragon, the biggest of the three she had ridden to the wall. Still, she had that effect on everyone. Ser Barristan had stepped away from his map, Samwell stood like Sansa and even Tyrion Lannister had gotten to his short legs.

"We have a whole wall under stars, your Grace," Jon said, "I take it you are not afraid of heights. You've seen the world from your dragon's back, you might like to see it from the Wall."

Dany looked at him for a while with a look he took for approval and finally nodded, "Would you be so kind as to take me up, Lord Snow?"

Jon bowed obediently and moved to lead the way. Ser Barristan and Tyrion had set in motion to follow but Daenerys held out her small hand and they stopped short, "I would go with Lord Snow. He will see that no harm comes to me."

Ser Barrister nodded as she addressed the others in the room. "You best rest for a while now. We have a long night ahead of us. Eat, drink," she said and turned to Tyrion, "but not too much, I need your minds sound and sharp when I return."

"As my Lady commands," Tyrion said in good humour and stepped aside to join Sansa where she stood by the fire, her sewing needle in hand. She smiled at Jon like she knew something he didn't and curtsied to Dany as she bid her goodbye.

Jon lead Dany out of the Lord Commander's tower and she didn't start at the sharp wind of the harsh winter come at last. Over their heads Daenerys' dragons flew their circles, instating a little air of safety. They flew lower now, as if they had sensed her coming nearer and as they rode the cage up to the top of the wall, Jon saw them passing by, swearing he could see their red eyes trained on them. Finally his lady shuddered when a brisker wind hit them and Jon undid his heavy fur. "May I, your Grace?"

She let him wrap his coat around her slender shoulders and she smiled up at him. "You are too kind, Lord Snow," she said, looking even smaller in his big cloak. However, to Jon, she still felt ten feet tall.

"I'm used to the cold, my Lady," he said, "I feel I haven't really been warm since…well, since even before you and the Red Woman brought me back."

It was still quite true and even now he was cold to the bone. He had become like his name, frozen like snow. As if it was ice in his blood more than life. Sometimes, before he fell into dreamless sleep, he wondered if he truly was just another of the Dead men. Only that now, he felt like himself again and his eyes were still the same coal black they'd always been.

In that moment, Dany raised her hand to his cheek as if she had heard his thoughts. It was instantly warm where she touched him. But more than that. Soon the warmth was spreading, from that spot on his reddened cheek, where her fingertips curled gently into his skin, to the skin on his scalp and the tips of his toes. A little sound escaped him without warning or hope of holding it back. It was a throaty sigh of surprise, relief and wonder. It was like coming alive all over again.

"You don't feel cold to me," Dany said quietly but her voice carried over the howling wind all the same, "Blood of my blood."

Her eyes locked on his, holding him there and the world faded to nothing but these purple pools that seemed to see right through to his very core.

"We're dragons," she said, closer yet, "If anyone can bring out the warmth so far north, it's you and me together."

There was so much weight in her words, promise and history, past and future if they'd ever hope to have one. It rattled inside him like the cage that at last came to an halt on top of the edge of the world. He was a Stark, raised in the North, named for Snow, but he was a dragon too. He was a dragon like Daenerys Targaryen and she was right. If anyone could do it, set this cold world on fire, it was the two of them.

"Maybe fire is the only thing that can save us, Gods have mercy," Jon said although he wasn't too sure if he meant only Westeros but his own soul as well. Judging from the way his bones were still warm from her touch like they hadn't been in so long, he was ready to believe that she was the only one who could make him feel human again. He was kinder, softer with her. Like he had been all this time ago when he'd been little but a boy and arrived at the wall, ready to raise to a grim night and do what it took to protect Samwell Tarly.

At last, Dany dropped her hand, leaving a chill and a yearning and Jon opened the cage to let her out onto the wall. They passed Crows, Dothraki and dark soldiers alike on their way to the far watch point. The guards had been doubled and trippled since Dany's men had arrived from the sea. They were miserable in the cold, even under heavy rags but as Dany went by, she spoke to them in soft tones, touching their hands and faces and Jon knew thy would gladly freeze to death for their _khaleesi, _their_ mhysa_.

"They are good men," he said as they'd relieved five of them from the watch point to be undisturbed, "Faithful to the grave to you."

"They honour me," she replied in earnest, "every last one of them. I gave them a choice, you know. When they found me, them and Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrion, I said I would have to cross the Narrow Sea to hope and save my kindgoms – a land that wasn't even theirs. A land I'd never even seen. I was as much a stranger to Westeros as any of them. Yet it was still my land. I told them they didn't have to come. This war was not supposed to be their battle. Alas they all came. All of them, every last man, woman and child."

After that, she was quiet for a while, looking down at the camp the men had set up in front of the haunted forest. The women and children were south of the wall but Dany's men had said they feared no enemy and would slay them before any of them would even touch the wall.

"They're my children, Jon," Dany said, deep in thought, her words forming little clouds of dusk in the cold air, "I fear for them. I fear that I've marched them halfway across the world to die so far from home."

"You still gave them a choice," Jon answered as he hoped to give her a little comfort, "they're here out of love for you."

"And I pray to all the Gods, old and new and foreign, that love can save them," she said gravely, "but many will still die and if we fail…we are all lost. How much of a choice is that? And you…I helped bring you back to fight for me and never asked you if you wanted it."

"My Lady, forgive me, I mean not to disrespect you but that was not ever really your choice to give me. If I'd been of sound mind I'd have returned out of my own power. You helped me return and I am forever in your debt but I was sworn to protect the realm, supposed to fight this war before I even knew of you in the world," Jon said, his voice far smaller than his words. He was afraid he would upset her but strangely, his love for her forbade him to flatter her out of courtesy. He would remain honest with her, always.

"Of course," Dany said, not upset to his ears, in contrary. For the first time she sounded her age, young as she was and almost sheepish. He even thought to see her blush in the moonlight, "I'm imposing. Forgive me, sometimes I fear I have a Queen's vanity."

"It's quite alright, my Lady," he said, moving closer to her, Gods knew why. He was touched deeply and hotly by the idea that she was afraid he'd find her vain, that she would even bother herself with the thought. "It's all the same now. If I'd gotten here only yesterday, from any corner of the world, I would still be right were I am. I'd have vowed my life to you just the same. With things as they are, I just have even more to die for."

"Because I'm of your blood?" Her eyes were huge and searching his and now he was certain of her blush. She hadn't moved away from him, if anything she'd gotten closer yet. Now she made him warm without even touching him. He felt the rush of being a man, another feeling he could've sworn dead to him just a few short weeks before.

"You _are_ my blood," he muttered hotly, emboldened by her closeness, dizzy from her fragrance and bewitched by her violet eyes, "You're cursing through me, you're everywhere, everything."

"Jon," she breathed as if she had been holding her breath and last he was sure he'd truly come back from the dead, for when she pressed her soft lips on his, a fire ignited within him and set him ablaze. He was sure to be burning, bright like a second sun in the sky, bright enough to cast away any shadow. As he closed his arms around her tiny frame and kissed her back, kissing him drunk and dizzy on her, he found himself taken back to a vision, a dream he'd once had.

He thought of the burning sword in his hand, as real as her body under his fingers and in bursting flames. A hot, blazing weapon, just like her. And he thought that maybe it had been her, all this time. That she would be his saving grace, his fiery sword and his iron armour, encasing him like lava. And despite all her fire she didn't burn him. She couldn't because he was a dragon too. She could only shield him, strengthen him. He could drink in her fire and breathe it out like her dragons. He could breathe it on the dark ones, the cold ones that where walking towards the wall.

Jon felt light-headed, everything burning from her kisses, everything but his skin. She was just as fierce and hungry in turn, tucking and pulling like he was washing over her like a soft, cooling river. She nearly threw them both to their death with her force, almost knocking them off the edge to shatter at the bottom of the wall. But then what a sweet death it would've been. Jon ought to know. He'd died another death before. Dying in her arms was the only sweet death he could ever imagine.

"Careful, my love," he said, breathless, pulling her away from the edge still.

"Drogon would have caught us," Dany smiled contentedly, "he would've plucked us right out of the air."

Jon laughed, beside himself and touched her face with his gloved hands.

"We ought to ride him tomorrow," she said, "he'll let you. He'll know who you are. You should have practice on them before _they_ come."

Jon looked at her for a while and then tucked a stray strand of silver hair back behind her ear. It was red. From heat or cold, he couldn't say.

"You think we should ride them into battle?"

"What other choice do we have?" She sighed and he knew she was right. Jon leaned down to kiss her softly on the crown of her neck.

"I'm glad you didn't forsake me," she said then, looking down at his coat around her as if she was too shy to look into his eyes, "I have never wanted any man so suddenly and so desperately as I do you. I'd dared to hope when you said you would take me up here. To the place of your watch. Beneath the open sky."

Jon was lost for words and amazed beyond even a thought for a while. Then he found it incomprehensible, to think that _she_ had hoped for _him_. That she thought he could have pushed her away even if he tried. And he could not have, not for any oath he'd sworn.

"How could I refuse you? I love you like the rest of them," he murmured and kissed her again, with a slow groan at the back of his throat, "And I love you more, and I'll fight the whole world for you. But you must know, my Queen, I'm not worthy of you. I'm known to the world as a bastard, I've forsaken all possible titles…everything. I'm only Jon Snow."

"But you are not, my Lord," Dany whispered fervently, "You are my brother's son, just as much an heir to the iron throne as I am."

"I don't and I can not care for the Iron Throne," he was so close to her that all he saw was her face.

"But you care for me."

"I do."

"And when I am Queen, you won't be known as a bastard no more," she said, with fire glowing in her eyes, "You'll be Jon of House Targaryen, the first of his name and King of the Seven Kingdoms, _my_ King and my Lord Husband. My solace and my blood."

Jon had half the mind to agree to anything she asked but still –

"I never wanted to be king and I'm a man of the Night's Watch. I swore an oath."

"To protect the realm and you will," she was insistent, "I've seen you with your men and mine. You are gentle and kind bit firm if you need be. They love you as they love me. You do not seek power – only peace. There can be no better king. And who but the Men of the Night's Watch would understand that better?"

"I don't know, Dany."

"Oh, but I do. Protect the realm. By my side. We can be the best King and Queen this world has ever seen. And we will have a son who will unite Pentos and both our lands will grow and prosper and strive in plenty. We'll have peace and freedom for every man, woman and child."

Jon found himself seeing what she saw and more than that, he liked it. He saw their reign and he saw their son. A sturdy little boy, black of hair and with his mother's eyes.

"If we survive this winter, we will talk about it," he surrendered, "if we survive this next fortnight."

Dany nodded gravely, as if she had just remembered that there was still a battle to fight and the enemy was fast approaching.

"We best get back," she said, reluctantly unwrapping herself from him.

"We best."

"But you will stay at my side now, Jon Snow," she said, "Blood of my blood. You must never leave me."

Jon swore it, beside himself and sealed it with a long, deep kiss. He could not have done anything else for the life of him. She smiled at him, brightly and her hair glistened silver in the moonlight. She was so beautiful. "Let's go," she said and he followed her back to the cage and spent the entire ride down looking at her from the side.

"You are staring, my lord," she giggled finally, high like a chime and the moment felt like they were somewhere entirely bereft of troubles, like standing on some lush green field in the sun with bees buzzing around them and tender flowers swaying in light summer wind with nothing to face but sunset.

"I can not help it," he admitted and pulled her against his side, allowing himself just another moment of that happiness and the human warmth she spread through his cold body. It ended all too soon, with the cage setting up roughly on the icy ground and Dany walked briskly ahead, leaving no trace of their earlier intimacy. He supposed that she did not intend to flaunt it for the time being. He quite agreed. He knew, if he lived, there was no way around the future she had layed out for him, as much a plea as a command, but he would rather not hear the brother's thoughts on this. Even if she said they would understand and lift him off his oath...would they truly?

Jon tried to seem as though nothing had happened and led Daenerys into the Lord Commander's chambers without more of a word. The others rose and Jon saw that Sansa had made progress on sewing Tyrion's torn cape while they had been gone and the men had been eating and drinking. Her cup of red wine was half empty but the plate of stew stood untouched before her.

"Are you not hungry?" Jon asked her as he took his place near the fire. Sansa looked up and shook her head.

"I can't eat with the wall at my back," she glanced backwards and then relented, "or rather with what lies beyond."

She did not seem afraid, like the child he'd known, her fear was very much that of a woman grown and Jon was amazed once again what little years could do to a girl. Her auburn hair was growing back, leaving a sharp edge to the ones dyed black before. She wore them in a high braid, so it looked like her head was topped with a red crown. She was quite beautiful. She looked a lot like her mother which still gave Jon a small start every now and again. "You will leave on the morrow," he told her, "I think the weather will hold up now, at least long enough for you to get safely to Winterfell."

Sansa was to lead the Dothraki women and children to Winterfell and beyond if the wall would fall, gods prevail. Rickon had been intent to stay and fight but with Bran still missing, the boy was heir to Winterfell and had only seen eight name days. Sansa was the only who could calm him down, telling him of his place in the world. Jon supposed she was as much a stranger to him as any of them – Rickon remembered only Bran and he was somewhere beyond the wall, out of reach. Still, something about her calmed the boy into submission and tamed his feral temperament, maybe it was Catelyn's look to her. Sansa nodded, she had noted the change in the weather too. The days before, it had been snowing like the clouds came down on them and winds howled harsh and loud like Ghost and Shaggydog cried to the moon. Now, the air was brittle cold but calm as the sea. As if the world was holding its breath for what was to come.

"Did her Grace like the top of the world?" Sansa asked quietly with a mischievous glint in her eye. _Truly_, Jon thought, _she is a woman grown now_. "She looks flushed."

Jon chose not to say anything and Sansa took it as answer enough. He doubted that she knew what happened for sure but women had a weird sense for these things that he did not understand. However there was no time to ponder about his cousin's heightened senses. He turned his attention back to the crowd of men in the room – and noted that it had grown by one man and one very tall woman, they had finally returned from hunting. Ser Davos, who had delivered Rickon and his wildling friend Osha to the wall, safe and sound, stood beside the tallest woman Jon had ever seen in his life. Brienne of Tarth had brought Sansa to Tyrion on their campaign north and had stuck with them to fight for their cause. She was a true knight, never spoke much but when she did, it was always worth hearing. Speaking now, however, was Tyrion.

"...that would do for the Dead Men but I fear even fire is not enough to kill a White Walker." His brow was furrowed as he leaned over a mess of scrolls and books that were placed above Ser Barristan's map. "We have the Dragonglass Ser Davos brought from Dragonstone but not nearly enough to arm every men with it. And since we can not forge Valaryian steel we have to make due with the little of it we have."

"It is not said the legends of Valaryian steel are true," said Jon, glancing past Tyrion to Sam, who was bent on the belief that Jon's sword _Longclaw_ could cut through the Others but Jon still had his doubts.

"We need more than that," Dany interjected from her place near Ser Barristan, "We need something better than guessing."

"If anything, plain steel can hold them off for a while," offered Sam gravely, "but not for long. They don't tire and they don't exhaust themselves, they don't have to. They could walk right through you."

He shuddered and for a while there was a heavy silence among them. Sam was the only man who had ever killed one of the Others. _What a strange world_, Jon thought, _where a man who calls himself a coward is the only one who could yet defeat a White Walker_.

"Be that as it may," Dany said, turning to Sam, strict but not unkind, "We still need a plan, something wicked enough to put an end to them."

"Aye," said Ser Davos.

"Wicked," Tyrion echoed, "It would need be thoroughly wicked, truly."

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Next: **SANSA**


	2. Sansa

**SANSA**

Sansa's body was sore from the bite of the cold. She wrapped herself in an old deerskin, thinking – not without shame – that all the years in the South had made her as brittle as the cold. She was a Stark, she should be able to cope better with the winds and the snow but when she thought of taking on the long way to Winterfell, her heart sank a little. It was not even as much for herself as it was for the women and children Queen Daenerys had brought with her from across the Narrow Sea.

They were used to dry lands with sun on their heads and skin and sleeping under the sun in nothing but thin hides. She had been bringing food and pelts out nearly every day and saw how badly they fared in the cold, worst of all the children. One babe had already died and two elderly women and come the Kingsroad more would follow. Sansa had half the mind to ask the Queen for one of her dragons to fly the weakest to the warm walls of Winterfell – little as was said to remain of them – but she knew Dany would want and need them close. _Still_, Sansa thought, _she would give me all of them to take her people to safety if she could spare them_.

Daenerys Stormborn was good, truly, as good as any prince or king in the old takes. Better even, for she was a woman. When she had come to the wall some days and days ago, people had already been calling her Queen, first and foremost Tyrion Lannister, her long lost Lord husband and as people saw the little Lannister call her Queen while he still had a nephew on the Iron Throne, the others had done the same. Sansa did not see a reason to do otherwise. She cared not who sat on the damned chair.

All she still cared about in the world where her brothers and her cousin Jon. _And Tyrion Lannister_, a little voice in her head whispered spitefully, as if mocking her. She squirmed in her nightgown under her deerskin. She was warming his bed. Their bed. She had not seen the Imp for two long years but they were still married in the eyes of the King's Peace and the eyes of the Gods old and new and so, when they asked her about what chamber she wished to take for her own, she had replied, "I would share a room with my Lord husband."

She could have easily said something else but it was her courtesy and something else that made her reply what it became. She remembered Tyrion standing beside her, his head raised to look up to her and from the corner of her eye she could see him smiling. The truth of it was that Tyrion had finally taken her to safety and reunited her with what was left of her family. Surely, Lady Tarth was to thank for that as well but she was rather matter-of-factly and although Sansa knew the lady cared about her, she wasn't sentimental enough to show it. But Tyrion remained courteous and polite and he did not touch her like Lord Baelish had.

He was there for her, protecting her. He had turned out the closest to all those heroes in the silly stories she had loved so much as a girl. She looked out of the window to the Lord Commander's chambers where the candles and minds were still aflame. She had bid her goodbye shortly after Jon had returned with her Grace, her mouth and his both pink from something other than the cold, she was sure. She had put little Rickon to bed, who was as old and as nimble as Bran when she had last seen him, and retreated to her room.

Now all there was left to do was go to sleep and brace herself for the morning and the day to come but she was restless. And hungry too. She cursed herself for not eating the stew earlier but she didn't dare trouble anyone for something to nibble on now. The Brothers of the Night's Watch looked at her strangely enough already. Half of them where staring after her, Missandei and Daenerys as if their eyes would fall out of their heads and the other half frowned at them, without a doubt thinking that women had no place at the wall. Dany and her handmaiden Missandei in turn payed them no mind, they walked across the snow as if they were soaring a couple of inches above the ground and no man's looks could penetrate them.

Sansa envied their grace and confidence and tried to appear as though she was just as untouched by the whispers and the stares as they were. She told herself it did not matter any more if they all found her weak, she would be gone on the morrow. And yet her departure did not only bear joy. She would say goodbye to her cousin and to Brienne and her husband and it pained her, yes, even the parting with Tyrion pained her. There was still so much she wanted to ask him about. On their long journey up the Kingsroad to the wall, she had found him a great comfort and company. He knew so much and could tell her stories and true tales from history for hours on end. One time when she had admired his wit and knowledge, not as a little talking bird but because she truly believed so, he had told her his head was so big for all these stories and his cleverness. She had laughed at that. She remembered, it had been the first real laugh in many moons.

After pacing a few lengths on her bare feet, she finally sat down on the bed and undid her braids. She hated the way her red hair pushed into her false black, like someone had taken a paint brush and drew a line on the side of her head but she would not cut if off either, not until her real hair went down to her chin at least. She was still a lady. When she had combed it out, she braided it back into a simple knot and lay down. In a strange way, she missed Tyrion's subtle weight on the sheet beside her. She had never slept next to him back at King's Landing and she had always thanked him in the corners of her heart for not forcing himself on her. But upon seeing him again, she found that he wasn't as hideous as she remembered him and also, that she couldn't blame him for the things that happened to her mother and brother at the Frey wedding. Sleeping next to him after was not so bad. If anything, it made her feel safer. Tyrion might not have been the strongest man in Westeros but he was there to guard her all the same.

Thinking this, she must have fallen asleep, because when the feathered bed shook with Tyrion's weight at last, she started, dimly awake.

"My lord," she muttered, it was faintly dawning outside.

"Go back to sleep, sweet child," he replied tenderly and pulled the covers over his small figure, "It's just a dwarf come to share your bed."

Sansa felt her mouth stretch into a lazy smile, "Have you thought of something wicked?"

"Ah, you know me," he said, with a little wink, wine faintly on his breath, "I always do. Sleep well, Lady Stark."

"And you, Tyrion," she knew he didn't like to be called 'Lord' and she wouldn't say the word 'Lannister' in the peace of her own bed but he never seemed to mind. Instead, he gave her a gentle pat on the cheek and blew out the candle he had brought to light the way. Sansa was so quickly back asleep, she hardly noticed it.

When she woke truly, Tyrion was still sound asleep beside her, one of his golden curls hanging deeply into his forehead. In sleep, he looked younger than his years, almost like a little boy and she wondered what plan he had hatched in his wicked, genius mind. Thoughtlessly, she pushed the stray hairs out of his face and Tyrion twitched and opened his eyes. "My Lady," he sounded rather breathless, his eyes trained on the hand she had drawn back as if she had touched hot coals.

"Forgive me," she said, "your hair...it was...I thought..."

"Don't apologize," Tyrion said while he groggily sat up, "I'm your husband and I think I made it clear those two long years ago that you could touch me which ever way it please you."

Sansa cursed the blush she felt blazing on her cheeks, she must have been crimson, red as her hair and could not hold his gaze. Instead she coughed and scurried out of the bed. What was happening to her? Was she growing sentimental after all? Had she not been hardened enough? He was maybe her friend, and only maybe, but he was still the Imp, grotesque...a _demon monkey_, and worst of all a Lannister. And yet...and yet. She felt his eyes on her and guessed he would behold her either with a smirk or masked disappointment. She did not know which of the two faces she wanted to see less.

"I wish to get dressed now," she said rather curtly and colder than she had intended, her eyes on her feet.

"I will wash up," Tyrion said, his voice not betraying any emotion and then he left her with an oddly hammering heart and trembling hands to tie the straps and laces on her dress. She did not see him until they all broke their fast in the great hall of Castle Black. The rows and seats were packed with Brothers, Targaryen men, a few of Tyrion's Lannister men, Baratheon men and even fewer Dothraki soldiers. They preferred to keep to themselves. Sansa found her brother at the far end, at a table near Jon who bid her a kind good morning.

When she had first seen him at the Wall, he had scarcely paid her any attention. Impassive and abrasive, as if he had never known her and she was just an unwelcome stranger. But since the Red Priestess had worked her magic with Dany's blood on him, he had been kind and attentive to her, yearning, as she figured, for a sense of family so far away from home. But then again, she was only his cousin now. And his other family member, Queen Daenerys, who sat to his right with her fingers occasionally brushing his, commanded his attention in quite another way.

Rickon greeted her more enthusiastically still, with a tight hug and a shy little kiss. Right after, he looked around to make sure no one had seen. He was a big boy now and had picked up already, that showing affection openly often times meant mockery from bigger, yet much _much_ smaller men. Sansa asked about his night and Rickon said he had slept well. Osha said the same, although not quite as convincingly. She was more eager than Sansa herself to get the Wall as far behind her as possible.

"I'd sworn, I'd never go this far north again," she muttered under her breath and over a small plate of fried eggs and black bread.

"We will be on our way soon," Sansa reaffirmed and gave her what she hoped to be a reassuring smile. When she turned her head back, Tyrion caught her eye. He smiled good-heartedly, as if the strangeness of the morning had never happened. Sansa smiled back but shuffled on her seat with unease. The eggs she had been served made her feel queasy. Tyrion's table was alive with many voices, they were talking among themselves and with the nearby tables, of strategies and horrors. Sansa tried to pick something up, something of use but she couldn't hear anything clearly until Maester Samwell barged into the door with a scroll in his hand. He ran on his sturdy legs to Jon and Tyrion's bench. His round belly wobbled with every step and when he arrived, he had to steady himself on Jon's shoulder to take a couple of deep breaths before he could talk. By then, the whole hall had quieted down entirely.

"A raven," he said, still out of air, "A scout...from the East Watch...they're...they are coming. Marching. Dead Men and White Walkers and behind them legions of wildlings and Mance Rayder. He isn't dead at all. He's leading them."

There was a stunned silence following and for a while all they heard was Maester Sam, trying to catch his breath still. Dany was the first to regain her composure, "How many?"

"Six thousand Dead Men, around two thousand White Walkers and another time as many wildlings," the Maester read from his scroll. If the numbers Tyrion had counted the night before were right, they were outnumberd 2 to 1 by the enemy. Sansa couldn't breathe.

"How long until they're here?" Jon asked, he had gotten all stiff and unmoving, only his head was tilted to the side to watch his friend.

"At their pace, four days, five at the latest," Sam replied, "But we best be ready sooner."

And just like that, Daenerys Stormborn slipped out of her part of Queen and stepped into the shoes of a warrior and onto the table. She was still small and thin but her voice carried throughout the hall.

"The women and children, the weak and the wounded will ride at once to safety at Winterfell. Wait there for us and keep the peace banner out. Sansa-" Dany turned to find her and Sansa stood, "Sansa Stark has the command, give her anything she needs to get her ready. Whoever you meet on the Kingsroad, send them our way."

Sansa nodded and sat back down, taking Rickon's shaking hand in hers while Dany went on.

"Everyone else ready their posts. Take down the camp on the other side and load the catapults. Sharpen your swords, repair your armour, spike the wall and man it, prepare. God's be good, this is the moment. Let's not waste time. Up, everyone!"

The clatter and bustling grew so loud, Rickon pressed his hands to his ears and Osha had to carry him from the bench. The boy was shaking like a leaf and Sansa half wanted to bury herself in Osha's bosom as well but everyone had heard that she was in charge and she had to be brave now. Brave like Daenerys, brave like her mother, like her father and her brother. Brave like a Stark. Tyrion was by her side in an instant. "I'm no use for fixing up catapults, I'll help you, if you will allow it."

Sansa nodded and followed the men out into the open. Outside, still no wind blew but men scurried around in wild haste. In a rush, she took Tyrion's hand and walked through the crowd, Osha and Rickon behind them.

"What do you need?" Tyrion asked her, his voice raised to be heard above the shouted commands from left and right.

"Wagons, pelts and as many horses as they can spare," Sansa said and squeezed his hand, "And all the food they won't need for the days left. Hurry."

And with that, he was gone. He wobbled quickly on his short legs, like a weasel and skillfully navigated his way through the many men until he had disappeared among them. "Osha, gather mine and Rickon's things and meet us outside the gates."

The wildling woman shouted a "Yes, m'lady" and took her brother away with her.

"Lady Stark," another woman called out and Sansa spun around to see Missandei running to her, her curly hair tousled from the sprint, "I'll translate."

"Good," Sansa said and pressed on, "Will you join us?"

"I had wanted to stay but the Queen made me swear," she said with a hint of defiance in her voice. She wanted to stay with Daenerys and Sansa understood but none the less, it was better for the Dothraki to have someone with them who understood their tongue and customs.

"You can serve her better with me," Sansa said resolutely, as she signalled for the gate to be opened.

Missandei proved instantly how valuable she was, within minutes, she had roused most of the women and few remaining men in the camp outside Castle Black and as soon as she finished, tents were taken down left and right and mother's loaded up their children and everything else they could carry under the wagons Tyrion had sent out. He had joined later with the food on three carts, enough to sustain them for the walk if they kept to little and far apart portions. Sansa had given a hand where she could and was holding a little babe wrapped in a bearskin, so tiny it fit on her elbow, when the sounds of hooves approaching made everyone stop dead in their tracks.

"Riders!" Sansa called out to no one in particular and surely enough, Tyrion was by her side within seconds, his sword drawn and the men who helped load the wagons did the same.

"Behind me!" she yelled at the women and children and Missandei shouted the translation – quite needlessly. They had all understood. Some ran back into the Castle grounds, the others pressed up against the stone wall. Sansa felt hot with panic, despite the biting cold, but dared not to move. Still, her hand found Tyrion's shoulder and she hung on to him, trusting finally that he would do all in his power to protect her.

"No one will harm you," he said and she dug her nails into his jerkin, unable to utter a single word.

At last the riders came, less than she expected, clad in warm pelts but carrying no banner. In total, it must have been a hundred men but at their front was no man. A girl rode there, high on her horse, with long dark hair mussed from the wind. She had a long face, olive skin and even from afar she seemed familiar, so familiar. Like someone from an old dream, but older, grown up.

"Arya," Sansa muttered before her recognition had fully sunken in, as blue eyes locked on grey ones, "It's Arya! That's my sister!"

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Next: **TYRION**


	3. Tyrion

**Author's Note:** Thank you for your reviews, please keep them up, they help with writing.

I do want to say that I might get some facts and details wrong because I've only read up to book two and get the other facts from the ASOIAF wiki page, so I might have some things wrong. And the theories of course, are maybe worth of discussions but I would ask you, if you not like them, to not get angry about it, pretty please :) To the rest, i hope you enjoy and know that I rejoice over every new review!

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**TYRION**

The pine trees rose high and mighty in front of Castle Black. They stood still for the ghostly lack of wind, this unusual stillness of air that had settled over the wall like dust. Tyrion was cold but not more so than usual. His jerkin had wool sown in on the side that lay on his shirt and he wore a thick cloak and leather gloves and heavy boots. He had did have his trouble waddling through the snow with them though.

Where other men sunk in to their ankles, Tyrion sunk in almost to his knees but for the first time in his life as it seemed, people where not looking down to him anyway. Jon's Brothers treated him with the respect of a superior commander and Dany's men followed him obediently because their mistress put her faith in him. No one had called him half-man to his face in a long while and he hadn't heard it whispered after him either, even though he payed attention.

As frequently as he had always told himself that he did not care what vile things people said and thought of him, as thoroughly satisfying was the lack of hearing them. He supposed it had little to do with him still, more with Jon Snow vouching for him and Dany's dragons who liked him a lot, eventhough the smallest could swallow him up whole. If it weren't for them, his name would have done for him many moons ago, the second he had set foot in the North.

Alas, they had not met a single armed soul on the Kingsroad. With every lordling fighting his sister's rule and his brother's sword further south than they had landed, they had not met opposition on the way to the wall. And even if they had, Ser Davos and Ser Jorah had come to like him truly and would have defended him, he knew. Those were strange times indeed. The strangest thing of all though, was Sansa Stark.

The girl had grown so much. Not just into her womanly body but also into a remarkable mind. He had no idea if he had Littlefinger to thank for it but he was more inclined to believe that it was all Sansa. He had given up all hope of ever seeing her again and when he did, her arms wrapped around Brienne of Tarth's broad frame, he expected her to spit on him. Instead she had climbed down from the mare, her hair as black as Jon's and curtsied and said "My Lord husband. I am glad to see you well after so many years."

Tyrion had been so lost for words, he had only found his voice again when she rode beside him, up the Kingsroad and eventually found himself in deep conversation more often than not. The softly blooming desire he had felt for her when she was only a girl had magnified, he found but to his surprise, she did not seem to mind it much. She did not even mind sharing his bed in Castle Black. Still he kept to his word. He had sworn that he would never touch her unless she wanted him to and he never never did more than touch her cheek or her hand.

She never flinched away, that had changed as well. And he had not seen her cry since their brief married life in Kings Landing either, not once on the road, not once on the wall – but now she wept, her voice broken by violent sobs that shook her whole body. She had not moved an inch and her red dress was black from the snow up to her thighs.

Sansa did not seem to care. Since her sister Arya, the wild, untameable and apparently indestructible little beast, had jumped off her horse and taken her into her arms, Sansa held her pressed against her chest and cried into her hair. Jon Snow shuffled his feet impatiently beside Tyrion, awaiting his turn. "Is it really true," he had asked him, running out to the commotion, paying the hundred men Arya had brought with her no more mind than Sansa, and looked upon the tumble of wild black hair between her cousin's pelts, "Is that really Arya?"

"It would seem," Tyrion had answered when Daenerys had joined them, "Sansa seems sure enough."

From the corner of his eye, Tyrion saw Jon bury his face in his leather glove and he pretended not to hear the faint sob the boy gave. For once, he remembered how young they all were – far from children but still so young. Jon Snow was two-and-twenty and had already died once, Daenerys Targaryen was one-and-twenty, had raised three dragons and crossed the Narrow Sea with an army, striking down her pretend-nephew 'Aegon' on the way and his young wife had passed her eighteenth name day just on the way to the wall. If Tyrion had counted right, the girl in his wife's arms must have seen fifteen years in her day and he could not help feeling impressed with the fact that she was alive after all.

Arya Stark had changed, even if she was not much taller by so many inches since the last time he had seen her - a lifetime ago at Winterfell. She was almost a woman grown and she looked fierce and fearless in her man's fighting clothes but beautiful all the same, with those long, hard northern features and a blazing, lively look on her face that reminded him strikingly of Lyanna Stark, Jon's mother. He wondered if he was aware of the resemblance. But then again, Jon had never known his mother.

"Arya," the orphan finally choked out, and momentarily the black haired head peaked up from her sister's embrace and just as soon, she had crossed the distance between them and flung herself on Jon, her thin legs wrapping around his hips. She kissed his face many times and laughed and Jon Snow cried openly, no longer hiding his tears. Tyrion stepped a few paces away but he could still hear what they mumbled.

"Little sister," Jon said and held her tightly.

"I hear I'm that no longer," Arya laughed, her voice heavy and her eyes wet, "I mean I am still little but..."

"You will always be a little sister to me," Jon insisted, "but how in the world, are you here?"

"Did you think I could stay away? I brought the Faceless Men, they can fight. I can fight too now, I can kill a man who won't even notice until he is in the ground," she said that not without pride and Jon laughed.

Tyrion had half a mind to join in but pretended not to hear them and instead joined Dany on Jon's other side. He looked up to find her almost in tears as well. Tyrion supposed Daenerys did not want everyone to know her feelings for the leader of the Crows but he would have to tell her soon that she was miserable at hiding them. The look on her fair face as she watched Jon was the one Tyrion had only ever seen directed at himself on Tysha all these years ago – and thought to have seen on Shae.

But Dany was beyond a doubt in love with Jon Snow and Tyrion found it not uncomical. To think that the most beautiful young woman in Westeros and Pentos and Essos together, _the mother of dragons_, the one who had the power to make every man and woman and child love her so much they would freely die for her, would in turn love a boy who had spent his life as a bastard, without a name, without compassion and without a future.

But things changed. Jon was no longer a bastard and had turned out a fine man, true and noble and trustworthy, as there ever was one. And now Sansa joined them were they stood and blessed him with a shining, puffy-eyed grin. _Things change indeed_, he thought, _and how profoundly_.

He took Sansa's hand in his, "I am glad for you."

"I never thought I would see my sister again," Sansa said breathlessly, happy as he ever saw her, "She has grown so beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you, wife."

"I heard that, Imp," Arya Stark said, sounding a lot like her mother. She had jumped off of Jon and landed in the snow without so much as a thud. Quiet as a shadow, swift as a deer, "So here is a lion fighting with wolves and dragons."

"Strange tidings at the end of the world," Tyrion quipped. He saw a glint in the girl's eye but no pyre, she was wary but not vicious.

"Just so," she said. "Well, despite your name, you never hurt me and I hear you kept my sister safe. So you may live."

Tyrion would have laughed at the insolence if there wasn't an air about her that suggested she actually _could_ put a man to his death without him knowing until he was six feet under. He opted to rather keep his peace about it.

"I was of the impression that the Faceless Men don't ride into battle," Tyrion said instead, glancing at the men, still saddled on their horses behind the loaded wagon's of the Dothraki. They kept their eyes trained on Arya and a respectufl distance from the crowd, "I thought they preferred quiet work, hidden work."

"They do," Arya answered lightly, "But they like a challenge. Each of them can kill any man they ought but none has ever had the chance to kill one who can not die. They could scarcely wait to come and try."

"That would make sense," Tyrion said and bowed, "We all thank you for coming in our dire hour of need. It is a surprise but an entirely welcome one."

"Indeed," Dany said loudly and nodded a friendly hello to the riders and then to Arya, "I have heard a lot about you."

"And I of you," Arya said, she was as tall as Daenerys and looked upon her with the same growing awe as any man and woman who beheld her for the first time.

"You must see her dragons," Sansa blurted, her hand had fallen on Tyrion's shoulder again, "You will never believe how beautiful they are."

Arya's eyes grew huge in her pale face and Dany smiled kindly at the girl, "It would be a pleasure to show you my children to thank you for the men you have brought. Will you go with your sister back to Winterfell?"

"No," it was Sansa who had spoken, not Arya, although the word was on her lips as well, "Arya can fight, I know it."

Dany seemed to weigh that off, she would have sent Brienne home if she could, any woman and any weak or old bannerman but she saw in the young girl what Tyrion saw in her and finally nodded, "It will be an honour to have you fighting on our side."

"The honour will be mine," Arya said and finally waved her men over, "As it will be theirs."

Sansa delayed her departure by another two hours as they fed the Faceless Men in the great hall. They were pleasant men, the ones Tyrion spoke to at least, although they had a strange way of_ speaking_ and one could almost smell on them how dangerous they were.

The dwarf remembered what Varys had told him about them some years before. They were excellent, professional killers, as soon as one had paid an exuberant amount of gold and named them a name, the man or woman or even child was as good as dead. If he had really planned to kill Joffrey back in Kings Landing, as he had been suspected, he would have found his own Faceless Man for it.

Ser Barristan was wary of them, as many of the Night's Watch but he did not question any sword more if they could have it. The old knight sat next to him, drinking beer with lemon and glancing over to them at the other tables every now and again.

"How are the catapults coming along?" Tyrion asked, diverting his attention.

"Well," he answered slowly, "all but one are ready for use and loaded, we've had ravens coming in from the other holdfasts and they are manning the wall and fixing up teir catapults as we speak. These Dothraki men ride fast and they had better. Lord Snow has commanded for most men to remain here though. The scouts say the main part of the hoard will attack Castle Black. They are coming for the dragons. But we will have the whole of the wall manned on the morrow all the same. They won't find an inch unprotected."

"And the drilling?" Tyrion continued, sipping on his wine with a furrowed brow and a galloping mind. His plan was truly wicked, as Sansa had said, but he still was not entirely sure it would work. If it did not, they were likely all lost.

"...is coming along," Ser Barristan replied, "but slowly. The ground is hard and frozen. We have doubled the men since this morning but it is a tough labour."

"Handling the cells will be even tougher," Tyrion said, "They need to practice. We need to be fast and very, very careful. If anything happens before the exact right moment, the entire plan is for naught."

The only reply was a curt, grim nod and then both men returned to their drink and pondering. Tyrion placed his attention back on the strange crowd. The Faceless Men filled the air with the scent of their heavy perfumes. They smelled like Dorn and Highgarden, like flowers and scented soap, even above the hearty smell of fried chickens and pork pie.

Jon, Dany, Maester Samwell, Rickon, Osha and Sansa sat a table over, caught up in a lively conversation with Arya. If he had not known it to be different, he would have believed them to be careless young folk, at the eve of a joyful joust at a happy court. They had left their worries outside in the cold and were all smiles and laughter. As if the world was not dangling at an abyss. As if they were caught in an endless, gleeful summer as opposed to waiting for the eve of destruction.

He could not help but smile. Even if only Sansa's delighted face truly lifted his spirits, he was glad for Jon Snow too. His road had been long, hard and lonely. Alas, it seemed a bit cruel that he would find all the joys in the world that he had been deprived of for so long; the passionate love of a woman so fine, the knowledge of his true birth and the presence of his long lost family; when he was so likely to lose it in less than a fortnight.

When the feast was over, it was finally time to see the women and children on their way to safety. _We best hope it _is_ to safety_, Tyrion thought, _and not just to a slightly delayed death_. Should the wall fall, they would all be unprotected in Winterfell and the dead would walk right over them. It was a grim vision and Tyrion did not like to dwell on it.

Daenerys was making her rounds through her people, blessing each child and touching each woman, each weak and old man as they came by them on their slow procession south. Missandei, Dany's faithful handmaiden had bid her a tearful goodbye and led the campaign out and Sansa and Rickon, with his wildling woman, brought up the rear.

Tyrion went to his wife first, leaving the last goodbye's to her family.

"Tyrion," she said and got down to her knees, into the snow to be level with him, like on the day they had been wed and he had put his cloak around her slim shoulders, vowing to always shield and protect her.

"Sweet Sansa," he replied. He found he was more than sad to see her go. He would miss her quiet way of letting him in bit by bit, her weight in his bed and her chiming bell-like laugh that was the sweetest music to his ears.

"Make them perish and see that this wicked plan of yours works," she said and then added finally, in a little voice, "And come back to me."

Her smile was so small and her eyes so fixed on his that he almost believed her, wanted to believe her, but he could not. He had been a monster to her, he knew, even if she had warmed up to him in the cold of the North. And yet...and yet. What good was it to wonder? What good was it _now_, at the end of all things?

Tyrion had been fooled by women all his life and he was not so careless as to believe any of them freely and he cursed himself for still hoping, for never learning, for not accepting that no woman could ever love him for less than gold but he still took a step forward and he still lowered his head and his voice to ask her. If anything, he was good as dead anyway, at least he could die with the truth, if she would give it to him.

"Is that truly what you want?" His question was faint, almost as quiet as the absent wind, "You greeted me as your husband when we saw each other again but do you really wish it, that I shall come back to you as your husband? You were never asked for a consent to our marriage, I could lift you of the obligation. There is no need to pretend any longer."

She did not say anything for an excruciating while and Tyrion tried to read her porcelain face and at the same time brace himself for her inevitable answer. But then she surprised him, like only Sansa Stark could.

"You are a good man," she said, "and a good husband. I have seen enough cruel and vile and deceitful men to last me a lifetime and I've seen you, my lord, and you are not one of them. You were always kind to me and I see now that you have always protected me, even if you could only do it in small ways. I am eternally grateful for that. And this world would be darker and colder without you in it. So, yes, I want you to come back to me and I want to be a good wife to you. You will live, Tyrion, and you shall find me and I shall be your true wife then."

Before Tyrion had a mind to grasp the meaning of her words, she had leaned in to kiss him on the mouth for the first time in their lives. It was just for an instant, and the touch of her lips was soft like a lover's whisper but still he closed his eyes and savoured it. This kiss would be what would sustain him, the very thing he would try to stay alive for and return to her as she had bid. It was an unexpected treasure and should he die, he wanted this moment to be the memory that would carry him into oblivion.

When they parted, he found that his hand had clasped her blushed cheek and she looked at him with a sorrowful smile and leaned into the touch. She gave him another little gift, another little kiss onto the palm of his hand, looking upon him as if it was the very first time she truly saw him. All the hope he had not dared to feel and all the promise in her eyes made his throat close off. It was a nasty feeling, like chocking, yet he had never felt something so wonderful since he had been a boy.

It was too much, all of it and it crushed down on his pathetic little shoulders like an avalanche.

Tyrion could hardly breath from the weight on his heart and for the first time in years, the dwarf wanted to cry. He wanted to run away on his stunted legs and cry into the woods. For joy, for pain, for his weakness and for the love he bore this stubborn and stunning, pale, little bird. And just then he stepped away from her, just when those tears he wanted to cry almost broke their way into the open and he could not take them back anymore.

"Ride swiftly, and safely," he said, his voice thick and Sansa nodded, one perfect, single tear running down her cheek as she got up to her feet again.

The rest of her farewell was a blur. Sansa never stopped crying and she had to forcefully pluck little Rickon from Jon Snow's arms and then she was gone, quickly as a summer breeze. The others who had seen them off went back into the castle soon after. All but Jon who stayed behind, holding his tongue until Tyrion had regained his composure. He was grateful for that.

"And so she goes," Tyrion said when he could trust his voice again.

"To safety," Jon agreed.

"We will have to make it so."

"Thank you, Tyrion," Jon said after another long while, his hand on his shoulder where Sansa's had been earlier in the day, "You have been good to her."

"I never thought...," Tyrion couldn't finish the sentence.

"I know. She has grown up."

"She has done more than that," he said faintly, "she has given me hope, life even, with nothing but a kiss."

"She has learned to see with her heart," Jon said, "And I believe you taught her that."

With this, he left him and Tyrion stood there a long while, looking at the deep wheel prints in the snow. When dawn fell, he found his way back into the Castle with renewed spirits and an even stronger will to stay alive.

He found Daenerys Stormborn, Maester Samwell and Ser Barristan in the Lord Commander's chambers, deeply in discussion about battle formations.

"Where is Jon?" He asked them, climbing onto his usual chair and breaking up theri chatter.

"With Arya Stark," said Daenerys, "They have a lot of catching up to do."

"As do you," Ser Barristan said to him, "Maester, tell him."

Samwell spoke softly, as he always did, with a bit of a quiver. "We have counted fifty-and-two-hundred cells below the library and another six-and-seventy cells in the old vault."

_Good. A good number_, he thought, _still not all that matters_.

"What is their state?" Tyrion's brow found its way back onto a frown of concentration seamlessly.

"They are old but thick. No heat comes off of them. I suppose it is the wall that kept them so, the shells are frozen. It will take a fuse to set them off."

"Well, that would be ideal, Maester," Tyrion said, very pleased. He hadn't hoped for such good luck, he only prayed the young Maester had the truth of it, he would need to check for himself to be sure.

"Arya tells me her Faceless Men are masters of movement, light on their feet and patient," Daenerys said and need not have said more.

"Then let us put them to use," Tyrion agreed, "as soon as the holes are deep enough."

"That will take another day or two, I fear," Ser Barristan sounded regretful.

"It is good that we have four or five left then, enough time to place them and enough time to think of the best time and way to light the fuse."

"I pray this trick of yours works," Daenerys said, her eyes flicking to the shadow of one of her dragons who flew by the window, Tyrion believed it was the gold one, Viserion. That one liked him best of all three, and he it.

"As do I, your Grace" said Tyrion, "now more than ever. I do like living...and I find I would very much like to see my wife again."

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Next: **DAENERYS**


	4. Daenerys

**Author's Note:** Behold the next chapter. Thank you for your reviews, keep them coming :)

This is a slightly longer one and on the matter of Lannisters in the North - let's just say some time has passed since the fifth book's canon and what happens in this story. Plus, in this scenario, Tyrion would never end up in the North after the big battle at all ;)

_WARNING:_ Sunny with a heavy chance of lemons and limes.

Oh and..I know I'm making some word mistakes here and there, this comes with a) not being an English native, b) writing quickly and c) in the dead of night after shitlong days at work. I am trying to find them and bind them all but some slip by me all the same. Sorry about that! But now, enjoy...

...and please do leave a review. This chapter especially is my baby.

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**DAENERYS**

The whole world was sparkling like a million diamonds as far as Daenerys could see. Snow still amazed her in all its forms but she liked the glimmering glitter of it the best. She was looking down on the plain beyond the wall, over the dark treetops and further, further still. If she rode Drogon away from the wall, she would be able to see the wildling hoard for herself but she felt quite worried enough just knowing they were there, and marching.

She squeezed her eyes to glance into the distance and she thought she could almost make out their fires. They stayed put by day and walked through the night. Maester Samwell said it was because the Others could not stand the sunlight. And today, there was plenty of it to go by. The sky was a pale, clear blue, without so much as a cloud above and although the sun shone warm upon her face, the wind was still ghastly and harsh. It was so cold that it felt hot again and Dany was glad for it. Heat she could stand.

She was wrapped up in the fur cloak Jon had given her on the wall some days ago and she found herself sinking her nose into the pelt, trying to find his scent buried in there. He smelled sweet and musky, just the way a man should smell; like dark, long nights and strong hands, like ice and fire and triumph. She had not been sure of his feelings for her until the very last moment, when she had asked him. It had taken her a shameful long while for a Queen and a _khaleesi_ to gather up the courage to demand his truth. It had only been so hard to grasp him. Since the moment he had opened his eyes to her, the Red Priestess lurking behind her back, Dany had been strangely captivated by this silent, dark man who was her own blood but still as much a stranger as everyone in this corner of the world.

Even so, she had felt tethered to him as if bound by a thick robe and whenever she thought of him, she remembered the blue flower growing from a wall of ice. This flower had filled the air with a delicious scent and now, wearing his clothes, she remembered it even more vividly. At first she had scolded herself and felt silly and remembered with defiant insistence that she had sworn to never love a man again. But after one day with Jon Snow she had forgotten all about it and was convinced that she had been meant for him, as he for her. Everything she had ever learned, every fever dream and magician's prophecy she had not understood before, had finally made sense. Dany, who had never had a real choice of a husband, had made her decision on the second night spent in the Lord Commander's chambers, listening to Jon's softly spoken strategies and worries, that it was to be him or no one else. If she was going to be queen she would have Jon as her king or none at all.

Just then he came flying back into sight, he had taken Rheagal - named for her brother; his father - south beyond the wall. Rheagal carried him willingly and without so much as a word for command. "It's as if he knows where I want him to fly," Jon had said in wonder with a great big smile, the one she treasured most because he wore it so seldom. Even so, he did wear now.

"We saw Sansa's trail," he told her, shouting over Rheagal's wing flaps, "They are well on their way."

"Good," Dany smiled, at least her women and children where a good distance away from the fight. It would not safe them should her army fail but it was at least a small comfort.

"Are you enjoying the view, Lady Stark?" Dany asked Arya who sat behind Jon on her dragon and the girl peeped out from behind her cousin's broad frame to nod eagerly.

"It's the most...extraordinary feeling," she exclaimed, "I could almost see to Winterfell!"

The girl was truly remarkable. Now she seemed just like a girl of fifteen years, vivacious and playful, bereft of worries or cares but sure as sunrise, once she would be back with her Facelss Men, Arya Stark would be fierce and frightening as a wolf, sulking and stalking in the shadows, ready to attack in a heartbeat. Daenerys already loved her.

Her sister Sansa was kind, smart, polite and Dany had treasured her company but Arya had this spirit of a warrior that she admired so fervently. It was a small wonder that Arya had immediately bonded with Brienne of Tarth, another fearless woman who put so many soldiers and knights to shame with her skill, vigour and loyalty. The two of them were birds of a feather if there ever been some.

Rheagal flew lazy circles around Drogon who kept to a leisurly pace, flying back and forth the length of the wall commanded by Castle Black and Dany tried in turns to catch Jon's eye and a sight of Viserion.

"Tell me, where is Tyrion?" The dwarf had flown with Jon and Arya, accustoming himself with the golden one of Dany's children. He was to ride him into battle, Dany had decided. It was the best way to make sure the fuses would be lit at exactly the right moment and Tyrion had agreed with her on that but he'd still seemed to not believe her when she had asked him if the saddle he had built for his horse would also fit on a dragon.

For the short years she knew him, she had never seen him so boyishly giddy and only once as happy; the very day before when his red-haired Stark bride had left him with a kiss. He had been overseeing the fashioning of his special dragon saddle all morning and almost ran through the Great Hall after the noon dinner to try it out.

"He's already landed," Jon told her, "he wanted to make some adjustments to his riding gear."

"And where is Viserion?"

"Well, with him I suppose," Jon shrugged and Dany had just wondered how her dragon child would like it to be measured up and worked on like a common battle horse when the commotion from below reached her ear.

She feared for the worst and looked to find Jon alert as well. There was shouting and Dany made Drogon turn back left to the castle. She gasped in horror when she saw the riders in front of the black walls; they counted at least three hundred, Dany estimated. What was happening?

"Jon, are you sure it was Sansa's trail you saw?"

"I don't know," his face was bleak again and his brow in a deep frown that must have almost rivalled her own. Arya had moved one arm from around Jon to draw her sword, every trace of careless youth vanished from her face.

"Down," Daenerys whispered to Drogon and he complied, with his brother following closely behind.

As the ground neared, the scene unfolded in front of them. There were about fifty men in crimson cloaks already in the yard, beyond the gate where the rest seemed to wait, but they just stood there, swords in sheaths and quiet as mice and where there had been multiple voices shouting before, now there was only one, but that one was screaming foul obscenities and as her dragon touched up, she could see two stunted legs kicking the air.

"...put me down," Tyrion yelled, "I will not have this, PUT ME DOWN!"

As little as he was, it took three of Dany's men to hold him back. Ser Barristan stood before of the crimson cloaked men, bearing his sword but he did not seem to be troubled by their presence.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dany demanded when she had jumped off of Drogon and told him to stay where he was. Jon and Arya, both armed, followed closely behind her.

"Release him," she commanded her men in their own language and they reluctantly set Tyrion back on his feet. Now she could see that his nose was bleeding heavily and his head was as crimson with anger as the stranger's cloaks.

"Tyrion, what happened?" Jon asked him, with concern for him.

"I would like you to tell me that, Lord Commander Snow," Tyrion bellowed, his voice not far from a scream. He waddled to Jon and kicked him fervidly in the shin, "What is my brother doing here and bringing an army of all things? And why does he tell me you sent for him?"

Dany turned around to Jon, not understanding any of it. Tyrion Lannister's brother was Jaime, the Kingslayer, the one who had stabbed her father in the back at the sack of King's Landing. He could _not_ be at Castle Black and Jon could certainly not have ordered it.

The air around them seemed frozen and buzzing with static. Dany's men seemed unsure what to do and from all sides, more came creeping out of the castle, roused by the noise. She felt like balancing on the edge of a volcano and hanging only by a thread.

"Tell me you did not sent for Jaime Lannister," Daenerys demanded, gripping Jon hard by the arm, "Tell me you did not invite the man who killed my father into our safe keep? And command an army to bring for him to kill my children?"

She grew furious quickly when Jon tried to wiggle away. She held on, digging her fingers into his leather-clad arm. Arya had taken a step back from her brother and Dany saw her watching him suspiciously from the corner of her eye.

"Well?" Tyrion barked, "Now would be good time to _say something, boy!_"

"I'm not a boy," Jon barked back and sounded utterly like one in contradiction, "I would have told you."

"When?" Now it was Dany who was yelling, "When he stole my dragon's and smothered me in my sleep?"

"He wouldn't do that," Jon insisted.

"And how do you know?" Tyrion quipped, "Tell me, since when are you the authority on what my dear brother would or would not do, how well do you know him exactly?"

"The red woman sends him. She made him see," Jon said, sheepish like a child who had been caught with its fingers in the soup pot, "He pledged allegiance to us, he has sent a raven."

"A RAVEN?", Tyrion yelled, "You stupid idiot of a crow that you are, Jon Snow. Is that all it takes your enemies to get an invitation into your battlements? You truly do know nothing."

Jon looked like he'd been smacked over the head with a club and Dany would have pitied him, or thought how she wanted to kiss it all better, if she hadn't been of one mind with Tyrion and shook to the core by Jon's puzzling behavior.

"Look at his men!" Jon demanded, gesturing behind him at the crimson cloaks, "If he had wanted to fight us, he would have. They would not be standing here unmoving, awaiting _our_ command, if he hadn't come in peace."

So much was true, the men made no move and Dany seemed to remember white banners among the many who still waited outside the gates.

"It could be a ruse," Tyrion said and kicked Jon again, he winced but made no move to recoil or retreat, "have you ever heard about the fall of the free city of Trogos? Their enemies sent a great trading ship to them, as a gift, a show of loyalty and they took it with open arms and in the night, the enemy climbed out of the hidden doors in the belly of that great big trading ship and burned Trogos to the ground."

"Thank you for the history lesson, Tyrion but I still have _his word_," Jon said, "He gave it in the presence of Melisandre and she vouched for him."

"Oh, did the _red witch_ send a raven too?" Tyrion was mocking him, "What does she know of my brother? She knows no more than you do, insolent, stupid,..."

"I would not be standing here without her," Jon's voice was raised too by now.

"That might have been preferable after all!" Tyrion said and took a step towards him, threatening despite his size.

"Enough!" Daenerys' voice cracked like a whip and all mumbles in the courtyard fell silent, as did her fighting men. "Where is he? The Kingslayer?"

"My Queen," Ser Baristan called to her, eyes still trained on the red cloaks, "Lady Brienne holds him in the stables."

"Bring him to me," Dany commanded, "and you two hold your peace."

She glanced angrily at Jon and he held her gaze, proudly and steadily and that made her the angriest of all, that he did not even have the decency to lower his head.

Two of her men ran to the far side of the grounds and soon after returned with Brienne and a tall, blonde man with a golden hand and sandy blonde hair. He was shackled, shaven and seemed clean and proper. There was nothing vile in his features or eyes, nothing to give away what a monster he was. He looked at her straight, as if he wanted to show her he came unguarded and feared no questions or judgement.

"You are Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer?" Dany asked him when he stood before her. He betrayed nothing but Brienne's eyes twitched mysteriously.

"That is the name the people have given me," he replied, calm as the sea. Arya, who had taken a step half in front of her with her sword pointing at him, drew a sharp breath as if she wanted to argue with him. Dany stilled her with a soft touch on her arm.

"You are waving a peace banner and your men have made no attempt of an attack, you sent a raven and pledged allegiance to our cause," she stated, "yet Tyrion is bleeding."

"My brother has a temper sometimes," the Kingslayer said, "and not the best memory of me. We parted on bad terms, you could say. We both made mistakes. I lied, he lied and he killed our father. Still, I never attacked him, I merely...removed him from my armour after he tried to run me down like a crazed bull. I did not intend for him to bleed from it – _much –_, my Lady."

"Your _Grace_," Tyrion corrected him, ignoring the snide, "you are speaking to Daenerys Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, daughter of Aerys, you might remember him...you opened his back that one time."

"Yes," Jaime said merely and spoke to all, albeit keeping his eyes trained on Tyrion, "and I am not here to dispute her claim to the throne. I come here because I saw in Melisandre's flames what you are up against. The ... _men_ you will fight, they are our common enemy. There will be no more Iron Throne to quarrel about should this wall fall. That is why I am here. I mean to fight the Others at your side and I brought my most valiant, skilled and disciplined men. I brought them even though Stannis Baratheon is marching on King's Landing where our sister hopes to hold the throne and bid me to rush to her side but I came here instead. I chose this battle. I chose to fight side by side with you. And we come peacefully and I vow on my own and on the honour of our house that I shall fight _only_ the Others. I swore an oath to protect the realm and I am indebted to it."

"And a Lannister always pays his debts," Tyrion said and his fight seemed to have gone out of him, he lifted his head to Dany, "I don't trust him, Your Grace, but I trust his word. I don't know what to make of this."

"Jon," Daenerys turned to him, despite herself, "What is your counsel? What were you _thinking_?"

"I am truly sorry, I did not expect them to arrive here so soon. I would have told you today, I just did not know how," he began, "but I believe him. If he has seen in the fire what I have with my own eyes, he knows the truth of it and understands. And we need his men; we need any man we can get."

Behind the Kingslayer, who stood silent and sure-footed, awaiting his verdict, Brienne shuffled her feet and cleared her throat, "My Queen, I can vouch for him. And I will be his guard and his jailor for as long as he is here and vouch for his safe-keeping too."

"She _is_ very good at that indeed," Jaime Lannister conceded and Dany looked from one to the other, seeing something.

"You know each other," she said.

"From a lifetime ago," Jaime surrendered, "but I must admit, she knows me as well as anybody ever will. And I would never defy her."

"Did you know she was going to be here, was this all a plan?" Dany felt suddenly suspicious and paranoid and had half a heart to take Arya's sword into her own hands just for a bit of comfort.

"No, I swear it, my Lady," Brienne hurried and Dany studied her face, searching, probing, but she did not find deceit there.

After a long while, Daenerys Stromborn relented. She took a deep breath and a step back and beheld Jaime Lannister for a moment.

"You will swear fealty to me. I want to hear the words. Brienne of Tarth will command a watch for you and should you try to betray us in the dead of night, should you harm even so much as a hair on any of my people's heads, you will die. Your men will die and everyone you ever held dear will burn and perish by the fury of my dragons," Dany announced, "Do you understand that?"

"Completely, your Grace," Jaime replied and Dany could almost hear a collective sigh going through the crowd that had gathered. She could feel the Lannister men still looming behind her, but they were still motionless.

"Unbind him," she ordered and Brienne made quick work of it, then Dany turned to the Kingslayer again, "Kneel."

He did.

"Say the words."

He did, loudly, so they carried over to his own men. "I, Jaime of House Lannister, pledge my fealty to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I will never desert or betray her and I will give my sword and life, if need be, to protect her and the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, which are duely hers."

When he looked up at her, Dany took a step toward him and finally told Brienne to return his sword. When he still made no move to kill her, she nodded.

"I put a high trust in you," she said, "and you must know that you truly owe me a life, since you took my father's."

"I understand."

"Good."

"What of our dear..._nephew_ on the throne?" Tyrion said, pointedly, "How does he play into all of this?"

"We both know he has no claim to it," Jaime said and several whistling breaths were taken in left and right of Dany, "I ask only that he will be spared of any harm when Your Grace comes to her throne. He is a good, unsuspecting boy and he means no harm."

"And his mother?" It was still Tyrion and his questions.

"She may go to the dogs," his brother answered, staring the dwarf down bitterly, "She is nothing to me any more."

"I will grant you the safety of your Tommen, Ser Lannister," Dany said after a moment of heavy silence, "You may rise. Is there anything else you want for your fealty?"

"Just that my men are fed and may rest, Your Grace," Jaime said as he rose, "they have come a long, perilous way."

"They shall have meat and mead and as many pelts as we can spare," she confirmed and turned to Brienne after, "Brienne, you will stand watch over him. I am trusting you with all our lives."

"Thank you, Your Grace, I will not betray you," the woman replied in earnest and Dany dismissed them.

As Brienne led Jaime away with his quickly appointed guards, young Arya Stark among them, the tension slowly faded from the crowded yard and one by one, the bystanders fell into motion. When most of them had returned to their posts and Ser Barristan took the Lannister bannermen into the hall and made arrangements for the ones waiting outside the castle walls, Daenerys was left with Tyrion and Jon and both their brooding faces.

"_Never_ do anything like this again, Snow," Tyrion hissed and gave Dany a curt, awkward bow before storming off to his chamber.

Jon, in turn, gave a low, frustrated grunt and attempted to make off into the opposite direction, his boots making squeaky sounds in the snow.

"And where do you think you are going?" Daenerys said sharply, snapping her head to him.

"I would take my leave, my Queen," he said edgily, not even turning around to face her. _The gall_, she thought and felt like her dragons, just one breath short of blowing steam through her nostrils.

"No you won't," she said, "You are coming with me."

She did not speak to him for the rest of the way to her quarters, she just marched before him, feeling the eyes of anyone left in the yard following them to the doors. By the time she entered her room, the worst of her anger had fumed out of her but she still felt uneasy and her eyes stung with a nasty whiff of betrayal. Jon slid in behind her like a shadow and closed the door behind him, waiting silently for what she might say.

To her bitter surprise and shock, instead of screeching at him, as she had planned, all that left her mouth was a strangled bawl and she could only press her hand onto her mouth and try to see through blurry eyes. Jon made a sound like cracking in half.

"How could you do that?" She asked incredulously and wondered if one could even make out words of her cries, she found her shoulders trembling with sobs, "You made me look like an utter fool in front of everyone. I am supposed to be their Queen and you...and you are supposed to be true to me."

"I'm so sorry," Jon mumbled and in an instant his arms were around her. She struggled against him in the _very same_ instant.

"Don't touch me," she cried, "Don't you touch me."

Yet he held her only tighter and there was an odd, frustrating comfort in it. She squirmed, feeling betrayed by her own body too now.

"I'm so so sorry," he said again, "I meant to tell you. I only thought I had more time. I wanted to tell you in a quiet moment."

"You could have had all the quiet in the world yesterday," Dany sobbed, like a silly little girl, "instead you ran of with your _sister_ and left me behind like I didn't even matter."

That too had bothered her more than she had cared to admit obviously, not that she did not understand that Jon had devoted his last night to catching up with Arya. But still. She had waited for him in the silence of her room and he had never come.

"And to let him come here without telling me," she pressed out, wrapping her hands around the arms he had draped around her from behind, "That you would...you are supposed to be with me now, in everything."

Jon apologized again and again and she cried and wiggled to get away and clear her head but then he kissed the side of her face, her hair and all the flesh he could reach and still muttered "sorry, sorry, sorry". _No_, she would not let him quench her fire like that, she would not be broken by his kisses and his sweet whispers and his smell, gods, his blue ice flower smell that made her dizzy and weak in his grip. _No, no, no._

"Jon," she muttered and her arms gave way to him. Swift as a shadowcat, he had turned her around and engulfed her mouth with his, holding her firmly by the shoulders and she kissed him back, beside herself. Overcome with wretched yearning and blind lust, she wound her hands up to his face and her fingers into his hair and pulled him against her, closer yet until no piece of scroll would have fit between them any more.

A low, guttural moan escaped his throat when she scratched hard at his scalp and in a heartbeat, he had rid her of her cloak and fumbled with the laces and straps of her dress until it hung uselessly from around her hips. Dany stood bare in his embrace and only untangled her hands from his thick, black curls to strip him of his garments as well.

She did not know how she made it to the bed but he must have carried her somehow for when she opened her eyes again, he had put her down on the mattress, his bare chest covered in soft curly hairs and little and big scars from uncountable battles. He was towering over her and she kissed his body as blindly as she had kissed the rest of him. Jon sighed and whispered her name and there was so much strength in his brawny arms he nearly crushed her in his hold but she liked it, by the Gods old and new, she _loved_ it.

Somehow, she had managed to pull his leather trousers down despite how they stuck to his heated body, he felt like he was fire himself, just as much as her. They were two breathing things of fire and she wondered that the world must start burning when they came together, only she did not care. They could all burn, she could burn as long as he burned with her, in her.

When she took his manhood in her hands, she elicited another of those sweet, enticing groans for him and the next sound she heard was that of her dress ripping in half when Jon lost the patience or the ability of taking it off any other way and she opened her eyes again. His breath came heavy and ragged, almost as desperately as her own and he looked at her for a long moment. His lips were red and bloated and ripped bloody from the cold and her hungry mouth. They stretched into the tiniest smile for her and his grey eyes were deep and dark as the sea.

She could have spent forever in that moment. Nothing could have been sweeter except for the one that came next, when he aligned them and pushed into her, slowly, ever so slowly.

She took in a sharp breath and wrapped her legs around him and bore it all. He was her wolf and her dragon and he took her with greed and care and love and abandon and she had never felt so..._alive_ in all her years. Dany felt like she had only just come into being, in being one with him. She had never forsaken the pleasure and art of love, had always cherished and enjoyed it, but something about him transcended all of it, took her so far beyond all she had known before.

Being with him was the only thing that could rival flying on top of a dragon. _Well_, she chuckled in thought as she turned them around, _it_ is just like _flying on top of a dragon after all_.

"I love you," he said when she lowered herself on him again and again she bit her lip and cupped his face and said the same, just before her climax hit her like a wave, big and numbing, and swept her away.

After, when she lay with him under a thick bearskin, she felt his seed dripping from her, trickling down her thighs while she drew lazy circles into the curls on his chest.

The air around them had cooled down but they were both still hot as any burning log. Dany could smell them both in the air and it was the sweetest perfume she could imagine. She thought of the blue flower in the wall and a shifting shadow that had finally turned into a face. She thought of some long forgotten words, talks of three fires she should light and three mounts she should ride and thought how at the end of it all was love, always. And now there was Jon, at the end of the world. And how she did love him, blood of her blood, her dragon and her wolf.

"I should like to marry you," she muttered drowsily.

"It seems you shall. I do not think I will have a choice," Jon said and kissed her head, she could hear the grin on his face, "when all this is over."

"No," Dany said, "I shall want to marry you on the morrow. Before all of this unfolds. If I am riding to my grave, I want to go as your wife."

Jon said nothing. Now she could hear the frown on his forehead. She propped herself up to her elbows to look at him, and surely, his brows were knitted together in thought.

"Please," she bid him, "I will plead to the Brothers myself. I need you with me. Do not forsake me, Jon Snow."

"How could I?" He finally whispered, "I would rather die yours as well."

"And maybe we won't die."

"No, maybe we won't."

"So you will marry me?" Dany grinned even before he answered, his eyes told it true enough.

"I will marry you." He nodded and grinned with her.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he said, "but tomorrow is still a world away.

And with that, he pulled her onto him once again.

* * *

Next: **ARYA**


End file.
